


All Through the Years

by CractasticDispatches



Category: Wallander (UK TV)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide 2012, also swedish police procedure is impossible to find on the internet, oh well hopefully this will turn out well anyways, sorry - Freeform, they are entirely our own, we apologize for any inaccuracies that may turn up, why can't we write anything short and quick?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:15:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CractasticDispatches/pseuds/CractasticDispatches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things take time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kohaku1977](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kohaku1977/gifts).



> Kohaku: Sorry this is isn't finished yet; we've been insanely busy. We have it all planned out and all, it's just a matter of getting the words right now. We promise we are going to finish it, it just might take a bit. Please feel free to find us on tumblr and crawl inside our inbox and pester us for updates.  
> Happy Yuletide!  
> with love from Kit and Kat

When he first hears about the office Christmas party, Magnus assumes he won’t go. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, exactly; Magnus has nothing against Christmas or parties. In fact, he generally enjoys both. He doesn’t even have any problems with any of his coworkers. He hasn’t been here long enough for that. And, of course, therein lies the problem. Because he hasn’t been here long enough to make any enemies, but he also hasn’t been here long enough to make any friends.  
  
Magnus has only been with the Ystad police division for about four or five months now. Normally he thinks that would have been enough time to get to know people some, but after that first day — God! that complete fiasco of a first day — Magnus has been far too busy making sure he does his job right, making sure he does it well, to really have gotten close or even comfortable with any of them.  
  
If he’s completely honest with himself, of course, it wasn’t just about doing the job well. It was also maybe a little bit about hiding. About avoiding making such a damned fool of himself again, especially in front of Inspector Wallander.  
  
Christ, but he’d felt like such an idiot. Mind you, what the man had expected to happen Magnus suspect’s he’ll never know. Take a rookie inspector out, first day, and by a police academy legend no less! Really, it was hardly any wonder he’d frozen up like that. It had just been too much happening all at once and on too little sleep and far too much caffeine and the strangest case of nervous butterflies he’d ever had. Add that to a rookie’s desire to impress and Magnus’s own tendency to speak first and think about it afterwards and Magnus supposes that truthfully he ought to be grateful that it hadn’t gone even worse. Which is to say, at least Wallander had only relegated him to paperwork and not gotten rid of him entirely. And that was his own fault, really. When your commanding officer turned to you and asked you what you were good at, the one answer you did not give was, “I dunno. I’m not bad with computers, I guess.”  
  
So, of course, Magnus had. And now, one horribly botched test, one stupid answer, five months, and several mountains of paperwork and catalogue lists later, Magnus just doesn’t know any of his colleagues well enough to feel like he belongs at a Christmas party with them.  
  
So he doesn’t mean to go. He really doesn’t. Knows it will be all kinds of awkward with small sandwiches (or maybe small chocolates, since it’s Christmas) and even smaller talk and a lot of feeling out of place. But then Wallander himself tells him to go. Overhears Magnus telling Nyberg that he thinks he probably won’t go and stops. Pauses to look at Magnus like he’s grown a mildly surprising extra head. Says, “Not coming? Why not?”  
  
And Magnus still hasn’t managed to get used to the strange contrast that is Wallander’s tired, slightly disheveled appearance and his sharp, full-of-life eyes, and all his carefully rehearsed excuses about visiting family — which he isn’t, but it would have worked anyway — go right out of his head.  
  
“Well, I just — I —”  
  
One pale eyebrow raises. “Oh, come on, lad. Everyone will be there, after all. We’re not that bad company, are we?”  
  
And Magnus stares at bright blue eyes. Stares and hears himself say, “Well, I suppose I can make it for a bit at least.”  
  
The Chief Inspector doesn’t exactly smile, but his mouth twitches a bit and he nods. Says, “Good. Good.” Adds another pile of paperwork to the mountain range that is Magnus’s desk and walks off, leaving Magnus to stare after him, feeling dazed.  
  
“Well, it’s not going to sort itself.”  
  
Magnus blinks. Turns to stare at the forensic tech blankly. Nyberg grins at him.  
  
“He’ll make you work through the party otherwise,” the man explains. Magnus can’t tell if he’s joking or not; Nyberg’s sense of humour is unique and he can’t always tell the difference.  
  
“You can bring your girlfriend, if you want,” Nyberg adds. “If you’ve got one. Though maybe better not if she’s new. Police humour is an acquired taste.”  
Magnus opens his mouth to say he hasn’t got a girlfriend but Nyberg is already leaving. Magnus sighs; aren’t any of his colleagues normal? He shakes himself and looks down, and then groans. Crap, he just told his boss he’d go. Now he has to, doesn’t he? He sighs and sits down, wondering if there’s any way to avoid the party and why his brain just refuses to work properly in Wallander’s presence. Truly, having a legend for a boss is more trouble that it’s worth.

  


The Christmas party is every bit as awkward as Magnus expects. There’s wine and some small bits of cracker and some sort of fancy chocolates, which is nice except that Magnus doesn’t dare have much to drink. He talks too much sometimes as it is. What might come out of his mouth if he gets drunk, even a little, does not bear consideration.  
  
Some of his colleagues do not share the same reservations. Nyberg has several glasses of wine, becoming progressively punchier as the night goes on (and Magnus can totally see what Nyberg meant about not bringing a girlfriend; deadpanned graveyard humour mixed with sexual innuendo is probably not the best way to keep a date after all). So do one or two of the women Magnus vaguely recognizes but doesn’t know. They mostly get giggly.  
  
Inspector Wallander brings his family; a wife and nearly-grown daughter. Magnus knew about Linda; Wallander talks about his daughter often enough after all, but Inga is a surprise. It’s completely stupid of Magnus to be surprised. Obviously if Wallander has a daughter then he must also have a wife, but somehow Magnus has never really thought about that part. And he smiles and makes polite talk when Wallander introduces them but it feels wrong somehow and he’s glad when they move on and he can go back to pretending to mingle in peace.  
  
It doesn’t get any better; Wallander smiles and laughs, the strange center of an even stranger family. They fit. They all fit. Fit together like they’ve known each other for ages. Possibly they have. And Magnus smiles tightly and sips his wine for the toast and wonders again why he agreed to come.


	2. Second Winter

Friends make things better. At least, he thinks they’re friends now. Maybe. A little. They all talk to him now, at any rate. And they’ve stopped looking startled every time he says anything back (And Magnus knows, he _knows,_ that that was his own damn fault for shutting up so very hard, but after a few absolutely horrifying verbal missteps he really couldn’t help it. It had been embarrassing and he’d already felt he’d made a bit of a fool of himself that first day and Magnus has never been very good with words. Not out loud, anyway. He tries, he really does, and it’s not like he’s not smart, he is, but once he opens his mouth it all just seems to go wrong: saying what he _thinks_ rather than what he _means_ and it shouldn’t make such a big difference but it does because he forgets that outside of his own head things like hind-reasoning actually need to be said.), though sometimes they still looked a bit nonplussed. He thinks maybe they’re starting to get used to him though.

The teasing is certainly friendlier now and that’s nice. Magnus finds he doesn’t mind so much that they still call him a rookie (well, he _is,_ but still) when they smile at him or clap his shoulder while they do it. Anne-Britt, who transferred in after Magnus arrived and is only a few years older than Magnus is, doesn’t do it at all. Nyberg still makes a bit of game of trying to make him blush sometimes, and Magnus knows that at first it was hazing. A little game of ‘shock the new kid.’ But once he realized that that was what was going on he’d been capable of giving some of it right back to the man and he feels like now it’s more like just a shared sense of humor (or an appreciation of their different but still quite odd senses of humor; sometimes Nyberg still comes out with stuff that Magnus just does. not. get.). And even Lisa Holgersson, their chief of police, has said that his work is good; diligent and consistent.

So it’s better. Really. It is. So what if he’s still mostly just doing the paperwork and research? It’s still part of the job and someone has to do it after all. And it’s okay that it’s mostly Svedberg and Anne-Britt who tend to his on-site training; he could hardly expect Wallander, police academy legend and highly valued police resource, to oversee his training.

Honestly, it’s probably just as well. It may have been over a year now, but Magnus still isn’t used to those eyes, is starting to think he will maybe never be used to them, and is still invariably reduced to either one-word replied or else a babbling idiot every time he talks to the man. So really it’s probably a good thing that that isn’t actually too often.

Or that’s what he tells himself anyway, but he definitely might be wrong. Maybe some practice would have been a good thing. Maybe a really good thing. Because the problem with _friends_ , Magnus discovers, is that having them tricks him into relaxing. He actually feels pretty comfortable at the office party this years and so he drinks eggnog and he socializes and then he actually catches himself talking. Without thinking first. Which is bad, he knows it is, but they all know him now so no one is stopping him. They just laugh, the same way they do when Nyberg says anything particularly risque. And it’s friendly and it’s nice and they’re smiling and so Magnus stops worrying and just goes with it.

He goes with it so much that when the call comes in that there’s a bit of a to-do going on down at one of the local taverns and could they please spare a couple of extra bodies for back-up and Wallander looks around the room — presumably for volunteers — Magnus just chuckles and tips his glass of eggnog to Anne-Britt and Kalle and says, “Well, I guess I’ll see you two later.”

Only to jump a half-second later as a large hand comes down on his shoulder and Wallander’s voice says from right behind him, “Yes you will.”

There’s something in that voice, and when Magnus turns to look there’s a tightness to Wallander’s mouth and a sparkle in those clear blue eyes and Magnus has to put his glass down quick because otherwise he might drop it.

“What, _me?”_ he says incredulously. “But — but I can’t — I — I’m just the rookie.”

“Yes you are,” Wallander agrees and the smile he’s been suppressing leaks out a little more, turning the corners of his mouth up and crinkling around his eyes and maybe that’s why Magnus’s brain shuts down so completely and let’s him say what he says next:

“But — but I don’t _do _things. Just — just paperwork.”__

And Wallander stares at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He doesn’t sound angry, just confused. And maybe still a little amused. Or prepared to be amused, the way people do sometimes when they think there’s still a joke happening but they’re no longer quite sure what it is.

And Magnus should really just duct tape his own mouth shut for social function but he didn’t and he just can’t stop.

“I mean I don’t do things. You don’t want me to. I just follow them to crime scenes and watch and then I do paperwork.”

And now Wallander is looking at him like he’s insane. “Don’t be stupid, lad, that’s how everyone learns. You go and you watch what everyone else does and then and you see if you can do it too.”

“Well,” Magnus stammers, feeling thrown. Wasn’t that what he was doing because Wallander thought he couldn’t do it? Because he’d failed so horribly that first day out? “Well, yes, but —”

“Well then,” says Wallander, squeezing Magnus’s shoulder a little and smiling at him (which should help, it really should. Smiles are good. But instead Magnus just feels more wrong-footed than ever.), “take Hoglund and go see if you can.”

“But—” Magnus turns to Anne-Britt, helplessly, hoping she’ll have some explanation. But she just shrugs at him. Magnus looks back to Wallander. Who is still smiling. (Which is still not helping.)

“Look, it’s straightforward enough,” he says, and some of his usual briskness gives way to something softer. Kinder. Maybe even affectionate. A quiet calm that Magnus knows is there but has never had directed at himself before. “I’ve seen you on the scenes. I’ve been watching. And you’re coming along fine. So go on.”

And Magnus stares at him. And breathes. And he wonders where his panic went. Because it’s gone. Completely gone.

Kurt’s hand is still on his shoulder, a warm, steady weight (And that is helping. Maybe a lot. Maybe as much as the words, the words that Kurt says like they’re nothing but Magnus feels like they’re something. Like they might be everything.), but it falls away as Magnus stands.

“Alright,” he says and now his voice is steady too. He looks at Anne-Britt. “Let’s go.”

  


“You do realize,” she says a few minutes later as they walk the block and a half to the pub, bundled up and shivering in the falling snow, “that this is a crap job, right? I mean, it’s Christmas, it’s freezing, half the roads are closed, this is probably just some drunken brawl and — What? Why are you so happy?”

Magnus blinks and looks up at the sky.

Kurt was watching him.

He shrugs. “It’s not that cold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are soooo sorry that this is taking so long. We have had the worst case of writer's block and we hoped it would go away if we just waited it out but that's taking too long so we're trying to just break it now by forcing ourselves to write. We'll see how that goes. Anyway, if this chapter is a bit shit, that's probably why. Hopefully it's not.


	3. Third Winter

The vodka is cheap. It’s cheap and it smells like rubbing alcohol and it pretty much tastes like it too but Magnus is still drinking it because it’s Christmas and you’re supposed to drink something at Christmas and the vodka is all he has.

_Stupid._

He didn’t mean for it to turn out like this, sitting by himself in his little apartment and drinking cheap vodka for the holidays, but it did.

For once it wasn’t something he said, either. Technically Magnus supposes that’s progress, but it doesn’t really help. He sighs and takes another sip and grimaces at the burn.

A clock chimes somewhere, telling him that it is now eight-thirty. Way too late to change his mind; the office party ends at nine, after all.

Magnus tips the glass tumbler and stares at the bottom, where a once-fluid-solid now holds an unfreezeable liquid, and considers the way both still manage to distort the world and also that maybe he should just go turn the damn clock off. But that would mean getting up. And attempting to navigate the war zone that is his kitchen.

Well, he says ‘war zone,’ really it’s a hostile take-over; the dishes and old take-out boxes and used glasses and forks piling up on every available surface until they outnumber anything else in the room. And possibly anything else in the entire apartment.

His colleagues would never believe he lives here, Magnus knows. Though he feels much more like just part of the team now than he did when he first started at the station, and now gets to more than just paperwork, a lot of what he does is still a lot of research and record checking and tracking down facts and people and telephone numbers and addresses, and if he doesn’t keep his workspace as neat as possible he knows he’ll just drown in it. So he’s careful at work. Tidy. Organized. His apartment, on the other hand…

Well, he only lives here.

His mother would say he got it from his father, who Magnus remembers leaving things all over the house his entire childhood. Always putting that down to pick this up, or falling asleep in his chair and then leaving the book there when he left. Magnus even remembers finding the remote for the television in the fridge one time. And his mother would just see his apartment and assume that Magnus takes after his father in that respect, but Magnus doesn’t think so. His father was absentminded. All the time. About everything. Magnus just doesn’t care. Not _here,_ anyways.

Work is different. Work is completely different, because he _works_ there and it’s not just his space and people can see and the finished product has to be organized to a point anyway and so he may as well just do it.

And because Inspector Wallander can’t organize for shit.

Magnus isn’t quite sure _why_ that seems to make a difference. Why that matters. But it does. Wallander is the most disorganized person Magnus has ever met, even including his father, and so probably it would be fine. Magnus could be as messy as he wanted to be and provided the mess was contained to just Magnus’s own desk and files, and it would be fine. No one would mind. Probably no one would even say anything, not even to laugh, so long as the work was still good.

But for some reason, even though he knows he doesn’t have to try so hard, doesn’t have to keep everything so neat and put-together, Magnus wants to. _Needs_ to, almost.

Because Inspector Wallander is brilliant and he always manages to pull sense out of the chaos and he talks about things like listening to rooms or the things people are telling you when they’re not there, and maybe Magnus would never want to know what his own apartment would say about him, but it’s a kind of thinking that they never taught at the academy and he’s seen it now. Seen Wallander stand or sit quietly in the room of a runaway, or a teenager who’s been getting into trouble, just— just looking. Just _listening._ And when he comes out he always seems to knowwhat to ask.

And Magnus doesn’t understand, has no idea how it works, but he has seen it and so he knowsnow _why_ Wallander is a legend. But Wallander still seems so disheveled sometimes, and so focused on bigger things, so busy trying to listen to the whole world, that instead of being messy right along with him, Magnus feels like he _has_ to be organized. Like maybe he can counterbalance it somehow.

Which Magnus is pretty sure is ridiculous, but he’s long since given up fighting the impulse. No amount of logic seems to have any effect. And maybe it helps. A little. Makes the chaos Wallander has to wade through in order to get to the truth a little less, at any rate.

The clock stops chiming and Magnus sighs. Turns the tv on and starts flipping through channels. There’s nothing much on; just the news, a bit about the weather (oh look, cold with a chance of rain, what a shock), and some Christmas special, broken up by the occasional commercial advertising last-minute shopping sales.

He should have just gone to the party. He really should have. He knows that. He really does. But he though he was going home for the holidays.

“Sorry, can’t come this time,” he’d said. “I’m going home — want to surprise my parents with a visit.”

And Nyberg had rolled his eyes and made some joke about ungrateful rookies who just never understood that a police unit _was_ family and Anne-Britt had smiled but Wallander had suddenly clapped him on the shoulder.

“You do that, lad,” he’d said. “You do just that. I’m sure they miss you, they’ll be so glad to see you. You never do take time off.”

And Magnus still hasn’t quite figured out how to manage that. How to hold himself together or speak fully intelligible sentences in the face of that focus-sharp gaze. But he could tell that it was wrong. The focus too much, too forceful, but also not there, somehow. Like he was looking at Magnus but talking to someone else.

“You go. You see your family. Family’s important. You make sure they know that.”

And Magnus had nodded. Said that he would, and maybe no one else noticed anything and maybe he’s just being stupid but it felt like a promise somehow and so now, even though his parents actually called him, ecstatic, two days ago from a ski resort in Norway (an early Christmas gift from Magnus’s grandparents), even though he’s known for two days now that a surprise visit to home was not actually going to be happening, known for two days that he would be free to go to the Christmas party instead, he can’t. Can’t bring himself to go, to have to explain (to disappoint those blue, blue eyes and see the lively sparkle in them dim for a moment just because Magnus was too stupid to call ahead and actually make a plan).

So here he sits. Alone, in his disaster of an apartment, watching bad telly and drinking even worse vodka and feeling like an idiot and pretending he won’t lie and tell his colleagues he saw his family anyway.

The clock chimes again. Nine o’clock. There’s always a toast before everyone leaves.

Magnus raises his glass, though whether he’s toasting them, or his own stupidity, truthfully he can’t say.

He drains the vodka and feels the burn of it all the way down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so......chapter a year. motoring right along here, aren't we? ai, apologies, but at least it _is_ progress. even if it's not much. also, edited in haste. feel free to let us know if you spot anything horribly wrong


End file.
